this is it.
today is the day.
my mutha-F*ing berfday,
and it's a big one.
the start of a brand new decade of lively, arduous, heroic heartbreaking
feats of warrior poetry, philosophical soldiery, and furious Folk Life & Liberty;
a fresh-to-death middle-aged sh!t hot mess of malodorous maladies and
metaphysical metaphor, melodrama, and massive meals.
that's wha's up.
like, years old.
in a row.
and i'm a true forty.
like, malt liquor-
i'm cheap, poorly made, and a ubiquitous figure in the 'hood.
...you know this.
i'm taking a moment to pour out a sip of my heart for all my homies
who've fallen off, had a falling out, or fell to the wayside
as i drove myself to even deeper and darker places,
and plunged ever more directly into mountainous hermitage.
so here i am.
old, busted, broke, broken, ugly, and dope.
the dopeness is compulsory, really.
rules is rules,
and even as i enter a fourth decade of werewolfen woe and world-weary worry,
the prime directive is unchangeable-
just be dope, of F* right off.
to that end,
i made myself some demonically delicious,
ill-spiritedly indulgent new new hottness to celebrate with.
yes, i really did.
over the top,
and totally XL.
check the forty-year-old-glutton-type teleport:
chocolate-chip chocolate fudge cupcakes.
heavy duty, deep, dark, rich, thick,
and stacked with all that cacao-derived nutrient activation.
what's on top?
twice-whipped peanut-butter frosting.
i dipped and rolled half of those single-serving cakey taste-bombs
in toasted coconut-style ice-cream sprankles,
and the other dozen got rainbow colored correctly
with doodiecrankle sprankles.
that's how it HAD to happen.
but that's not it.
i doo-doo that berfday sh!t pretty hard,
and i swirled some incredibly powerful cocoa frosting all up on each of 'em,
and took the whole already impressive scene to eleven,
with hand-dipped grates of greatness in a salty pretzel sorcerous spell
of pure celebratory sexxxiness.
that's what's up.
i started my day with berfday (pan)cakes, too.
with a candle and everything.
it's nice knowing that somebody cares enough to griddle up a stack for me.
and that's no joke.
i'm forty now.
i s'pose between the new year, and this new prefix to my age,
i should really get a little busier?
i know i don't do nearly as much as i'd like to.
maybe i can just sleep even less?
more time is what i need,
and not just because i'm so old that time is running out.
this is how it goes,
when it goes;
never quiet, never soft.....